


come over now and talk me down

by nighimpossible



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Dissociation, Isolation, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like Keith has anywhere to go now that he’s left the Garrison. The boys home he’d grown up in doesn’t exactly take in adults, and Keith is six months away from eighteen. He doesn’t have money. He had a skill, but he squandered it.</p><p>He thinks about trying to get a job in the city. The thought turns his stomach, and the pull toward the desert seems to increase. This place doesn’t want him to leave, Keith thinks. There is something here that he has yet to find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come over now and talk me down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts).



> For my darling, beloved Jordan!!! This came out as a love letter to Keith's character and hopefully you see it as a love letter to you as well. Happiest of birthdays. Truly you are one of my favorite people on this planet. You deserve the best of days and the best year to follow.
> 
> Title from Troye Sivan's song, "Talk Me Down."
> 
> Spoilers through all of season 1, as well as some season 2 speculation.

 

 

 

He dreams he is in a plane of fire, flames flickering up from the very ground beneath his feet. The fire does not burn. The fire never burns.

 

Two feline eyes stare at him from the darkness up ahead.

 

_Come_ , they seem to purr.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You know,” Shiro says gently, “people aren’t supposed to be this angry all the time.”

 

Keith already knows that he’s strange. He doesn’t need reminding.

 

The halls of the Galaxy Garrison are quiet. It’s near light’s out, and most cadets are on their way to their bunks or finishing up a late night snack in the mess hall. Keith isn’t in bed and he isn’t in mess. Keith is with Shiro, because Shiro is leaving tomorrow and Keith wants to remember his face.

 

“You’re going to meditate while I’m gone,” Shiro tells him. “Promise me.”

 

A bubble of anger fills his stomach. He doesn’t want to meditate, doesn’t want to subdue this channel of emotion inside himself. He hates the drills they put him through, hates the continued monotony of doing the same thing over and over again. He already does it perfectly. Why should he have to do it again? 

 

They push him, they push him harder than _any_ of the other cadets, they push him until he makes a mistake. And it’s not _fair_. It’s not right. The anger blooms within him, echoes around his skull like an alarm’s been pulled. He can’t count the number of times he’s stormed out of the simulator. 

 

“They’re testing you,” Shiro says. “They’re always testing us.”

 

Keith looks up from where he’d been wringing his fingers back and forth. He hadn’t realized he’d been speaking aloud. “Sorry,” he murmurs. He doesn’t really want to focus on his problems when Shiro’s about to embark on some dangerous journey to the stars that Keith can only dream about.

 

“Don’t sweat it,” Shiro says with a grin. “It’s nice to not think about the Kerberos mission for a little while.” He grips Keith’s shoulder tightly and smiles. “I’m glad you dropped by.”

 

A wave of relaxation flows through his body from Shiro’s fingers down to Keith’s toes. He’s not sure what he’s going to do without Shiro at the Garrison. There aren’t many people who know how to calm Keith down.

 

“You’re going to be fine,” Shiro says, reading Keith perfectly. His face looks slightly strained, and Keith replies with a swift but simple, “So are you.”

 

“Yeah,” he nods at Keith before turning away to busy himself with his bag of own personal items. Keith knows he’s already been packed for a week, but for now, Shiro needs to hide his face. He doesn’t want to show Keith any shred of doubt that may remain in his heart.

 

Keith will give him that. There aren’t many people Keith knows that he’d allow this kindness. He figures it’ll be Shiro’s going away present.

 

They talk, listlessly, in the darkness: Shiro laying on his own bed, Keith draped across Shiro’s chair, his feet aloft on the desk. Keith tugs at the edges of his jacket, suppressing a shudder. Shiro always keeps his room so cold.

 

When Keith finally decides to go to bed, Shiro hugs him at the door before he goes. “Be good,” Shiro says into his neck, words sliding across his skin like a salve.

 

Keith isn’t sure he knows how. But for Shiro, he’ll try.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You think you’re better than us, Kogane?”

 

He tried to be good. Keith really tried: he handed in all his homework, didn’t argue with the instructors much. He stuck mostly to the gym and to himself. Even the Commander had a good word to say about his behavioral progress: “Looks like you’re finally taking this program seriously.”

 

Keith shrugs against the two guys holding him down. “I don’t think so,” Keith says, spitting blood on the ground at his attacker’s feet. “I know so.” He has better scores on the simulator than all three of these guys combined. He doesn’t have to know their names to know it.

 

A blow to the head: he blacks out a little, eyesight dark for a moment. It hurts _viciously_ , and when Keith looks up at his assailant’s hand, there’s a class ring on his finger that Keith is certain made a dent. He swallows a whimper and grits his teeth. These people won’t see him break.

 

Besides, they can’t break what’s already been broken.

 

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice calls out. “What the hell?”

 

“Go away, cargo bay,” one of Keith’s attackers suggests. All three of the guys beating up Keith are from the fighter pilot corps, and it’s obvious that the interrupting voice is a cargo pilot in training. The less talented pilots get sorted into a less dangerous designation, for their own safety, of course.

 

The news of the Kerberos mission came in that morning. Some kind of pilot error. All three crew members missing, presumed dead. Keith honestly prefers the feeling of being punched in the face to the one he gets when he remembers that he’s never going to see Shiro again.

 

_Fuck_.

 

“Iverson’s like, right behind me,” the cargo pilot continues, and the two guys holding Keith back loosen their grip a little, long enough for Keith’s self-preservation to kick in. “If you wanna avoid dish duty, I’d scoot.” Keith wiggles out of their hold and falls into an easy, open stance. He can take these guys on an even playing field. Hell, he’s sparred with Shiro a thousand times in the gym, and Shiro’s much more talented at hand-to-hand combat than anyone in the Garrison. They had just snuck up on him, and to say that Keith is a little distracted today would be an understatement.

 

Keith’s gut twists in agony as the name floats through his mind: _Shiro_. It hurts, and Keith falls into himself, tugging his arms in close to his chest.

 

The main attacker nods at his two friends. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

When they’re out of earshot, Keith sinks back against the wall and feels around his mouth with his tongue for any loose teeth.

 

“You look like shit, dude,” the cargo pilot points out, offering a hand. Keith looks down at the hand for a long moment until the cargo pilot slowly retracts his offer with a slightly disappointed look on his face.

 

“Still look better than you,” Keith finally says, voice devoid of mirth. A big part of him hopes his would-be rescuer takes the hint and starts wailing on him too. He wants to bleed. At least that would distract him from his grief.

 

It hurts to live like this, Keith notes. It hurts to live in a world where no one believes in you.

 

The cargo pilot gives him a strange look and backs off. Keith leaves him there in the hallway.

 

Good riddance.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Keith doesn’t show up to the simulator the next day, he is quickly summoned to the Commander’s office.

 

“If you want to continue in this program, Kogane, you’re going to have to show me you give a damn!” Iverson shouts at him.

 

“I _gave_ a damn,” Keith says, anger bubbling in his chest. _I gave a damn about Shiro. See where that got me._

 

“If you cared about becoming a part of the Galaxy Garrison, you’d show up! I’m tired of you phoning it in, Kogane.” Iverson glares down at him with his one functional eye. “You’ve got talent up to here,” he raises his hand to his chin, “and you’re _squandering_ it.”

 

Keith shrugs.

 

“I know you and Shiro were close—” Iverson starts, finally pointing out the elephant in the room after a moment of mutual silence.

 

“Don’t,” Keith hisses. His hands are balled into fists, and they tremble against his sides, radiating energy that he cannot control. “Don’t you _dare_ say his name.”

 

There is anger: Keith’s known anger all too well. Fury flows through his veins like blood. This feeling is something more. It’s like something else is feeding him into a frenzy, some kind of closed loop circuit that crackles within him. He vibrates there in front of Iverson, full of grief and bitter rage.

 

“Shiro would have wanted you to continue,” Iverson suggests.

 

“Shiro’s dead,” Keith shouts, raising his hand to—what, punch him? Keith isn’t sure, but a petty officer stops his hand before it can go anywhere. Iverson, for his part, looks shocked.

 

“Attempting to strike a superior officer, that’s a sanctionable offense,” Iverson notes coolly. “You ought to be put in the brig. You’re lucky I’m only bumping you down to mechanic class.”

 

“Commander,” Keith spits out, “I quit.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The desert is empty, and Keith is empty. There are days when Keith thinks he prefers things this way.

 

He travels across the dunes with a scarf around his nose and mouth, blocking the sand from his lungs. He still breathes some in each day: it is a constant itch at the back of his throat.

 

He steals a speeder from the Garrison on his way out. The tracker is easy enough to find and dislodge from the vehicle, and Keith figures that he can get pretty far on the speeder given enough time and fuel. As he traverses the dunes, he empties his mind and wonders if this is what Shiro meant by meditation.

 

He doesn’t know why he comes this way. The desert seems to draw him in like the ocean’s tide. 

 

The small cottage he finds is semi-furnished. There’s a bed though, and for the first month, Keith spends a lot of his time sleeping. He wonders vaguely where the old owner of the house is, but it’s obvious that they haven’t been living here for years. A layer of grime that Keith doesn’t bother to clean covers most of everything. The dust settles around him as he settles into the blankets. 

 

He dreams of giant eyes beaming at him in the dark. He dreams of Shiro, too. He dreams of fire and fury. He dreams for months until he is empty, and then he dreams no more.

 

Eventually, all that is left in his subconscious is the gnawing tug in his gut pulling him toward something more.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Something out here wants to be found.

 

Being empty makes searching less aggravating: the tediousness of exploring mountain caves is less annoying when you don’t care anymore. He documents the drawings he finds on the walls, including the strange symbols and the cat outlines. He starts collecting data on a map he finds in the cottage.

 

The drawings tell stories, from what Keith can ascertain. Stories about a blue lion. Each cave, and there are many caves that Keith comes across in his time in the desert, tells a slightly different story about the lion and its heroics.

 

Eat, sleep, search, repeat.

 

The emptiness is easy to settle in, like a well-fitting jacket. Nothing really hurts anymore. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s not like Keith has anywhere to go now that he’s left the Garrison. The boys home he’d grown up in doesn’t exactly take in adults, and Keith is six months away from eighteen. He doesn’t have money. He had a skill, but he squandered it.

 

He thinks about trying to get a job in the city. The thought turns his stomach, and the pull toward the desert seems to increase. This place doesn’t want him to leave, Keith thinks. There is something here that he has yet to find.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Come_ , the eyes beckon, and Keith wakes up from the first dream he’s had in months.

 

Keith shoots up from his bed, throws on his jacket, and hops onto the speeder. The comet lights up the night, and Keith drives toward it at top speed as it disappears on the horizon.

 

The desert seems to thrum under him in approval. It wants him to chase the falling star.

 

When he arrives at the scene, he parks the scooter behind a cliff. Using his binoculars, he sees that the comet is not a comet but a _ship_.

 

A temporary medical bay is open nearby, and—

 

“Shiro,” Keith says, voice gravelly from disuse. He sounds strange to himself: it’s been so long since he’s spoken out loud.

 

He hops back on the speeder and takes the long way around to avoid detection, setting up a few flares in the distance for a distraction.

 

When he gets back, Shiro is shouting with the technicians, begging them to release him. There is no choice for Keith to make.

 

He sets off the flares, and the Garrison soldiers start running toward the noise.

 

Keith tugs up his scarf and runs in.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Shiro and the three cadets are all asleep inside the cottage, Keith takes a moment outside alone. He sags against the wall of the house and sinks into a crouch, watching the toes of his shoes dig into the sand. He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until he notices the wetness on his jacket.

 

He’s not empty anymore, but despite the tears, he’s not sad either. Instead, he’s full of relief.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It is strange, Keith thinks, being around people again.

 

Shiro hangs an arm over his shoulder as they gear up for the journey to the caves. He glances at Keith to survey him, mostly. Keith wonders if Shiro sees the ley lines where he’s cracked over time. If anyone is going to, he will.

 

Shiro tightens his grip around Keith’s shoulders briefly before letting him go.

 

“Shotgun,” Lance calls from the speeder.

 

“There _is_ no shotgun on there,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. “There’s only one real seat.”

 

“Shot,” Lance repeats slowly, “gun.”

 

Lance is an annoyance Keith does not expect. It sparks in him a slow trickle of that familiar anger that used to fuel him through his days.

 

It is a curious feeling, getting the fire back.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Of course the blue lion belongs to Lance.

 

Of course, the thing that has called to him for _months_ in the desert doesn’t even want him back.

 

Of course.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They’ve been at the castle for a few days when the red lion calls to him in his dreams once more.

 

_Come_ , it murmurs in his ear.

 

Keith travels through the castle to the hangar where the lions are kept. Eventually, he finds himself face to face with the red lion. It gleams silently at him in the dark.

 

_Family_ , the red lion hums, pressing the word into his mind like a soft nuzzle. Keith reaches out and puts a hand on the red lion’s nose, smoothing his thumb back and forth. The word is inundated with a feeling of belonging that settles Keith in his gut.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Keith says, a small smile on his lips.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Okay, this can’t be that hard,” Lance shrugs from the doorway.

 

Keith is dripping sweat down his face, blade raised at the ready to defend against the gladiator. He’s been in the training room for what feels like hours. His muscles feel good, well used.

 

Keith dismisses the gladiator and knocks the flat of his double-edged bayard against his shoulder, careful not to cut himself with the sharp ends of the blade. “Okay. Let’s go.”

 

Lance rolls his eyes and unleashes his blaster bayard. “You really wanna go gun against sword. You’re an idiot, Keith.”

 

Keith rolls his eyes and kicks an extra sword at Lance. “En garde, asshole.” Keith thinks _practice_ at his sword, and its edges smooth out into something a little less dangerous.

 

Keith has more experience with the sword, but Lance is faster, feet dancing beneath him distractingly. “Ha!” Lance laughs, sticking Keith in the chest with his blunted edge. “Slow poke.” Annoyed, Keith doubles his efforts. He manages to gain a few points in his anger, and he finds that he enjoys the bout more than he anticipated. Lance takes his threat seriously. They both want to win, and that makes their fight intense enough to work up a sweat.

 

They are tied, and Lance’s forehead is shiny with exertion. “Holy crap,” he heaves, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “This isn’t me giving up, I’m just taking a short rest.”

 

Keith’s arms are shaking from exhaustion. “Fine. I’m not giving up either.”

 

They both collapse to the floor of the training room, worn out but exhilarated. Keith’s heart feels like it’s pumping in his throat, and he can’t help but let an easy smile fall across his face.

 

“You guys napping in here?” Hunk asks, walking into the training room with Shiro. “That doesn’t look very comfortable.”

 

“I just beat Keith at swords,” Lance says weakly from the floor.

 

“Okay, not true,” Keith points out.

 

“Ignore him, he is _very_ embarrassed,” Lance tells Hunk conspiratorially.

 

Shiro offers Keith a hand up. Keith takes it as Shiro says, “Let’s walk.”

 

They make their way to the common room, which is empty save a few of Allura’s mice. “Hello,” Shiro tells them kindly. Keith thinks it’s a little strange to be treating rodents with such deference, but the mice squeak in what seems like happy acceptance as they scatter away.

 

“I wanted to talk,” Shiro starts, sitting down. “It’s hard not to notice that you’re different now.”

 

Keith shrugs. “I think we’re all different now that we’re paladins.”

 

“That’s not what I mean,” Shiro says.

 

Keith’s mouth thins. “I know,” he admits.

 

“You left the Garrison,” Shiro offers as an opening.

 

“So did you,” Keith points out. Shiro gives him a dark look, and Keith puts his hands up. “Obviously under different circumstances.”

 

“When we form Voltron, our minds fuse, Keith,” Shiro says slowly, cautiously, like he’s trying to handle a wild animal. “I can’t ignore what’s going on with you.”

 

“The others do,” Keith shrugs.

 

“The others are scared of you,” Shiro points out.

 

“I scare me too, sometimes,” Keith finally admits after a long pause. “I think that’s—that’s why I left. I got so _angry_ , Shiro. I wanted to go somewhere where I could just live in the quiet. Some place where I could let the anger go.”

 

“Keith,” Shiro says softly as Keith finally sits down next to him.

 

“The anger is hard to control,” Keith says tightly. Something coils in his gut, hot and burning, and he tries to stamp it out helplessly as it cooks him from the inside out. “But it’s better than feeling nothing at all.”

 

Shiro thinks for a moment before replying. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone wear their anger like that before,” he says simply. “I don’t know how you do it. If I felt that angry, and I know your anger now—I feel it through Voltron—if I felt like that all the time? It would consume me.”

 

Keith looks up at Shiro in confusion.

 

“I think it gives you great strength, Keith,” Shiro continues. “I think that once you learn to fully control it, you may become the most powerful paladin of us all.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What are you _doing_?” Keith hears Lance hiss at the blue lion. “Dude, what the hell?”

 

Keith turns around to see the blue and red lions lazily snuggled together in the mid afternoon sun.

 

_Red_ , Keith thinks sternly. _Quit it_.

 

The red lion huffs out a snuffle of annoyance at him that seems to read, _Bite me_.

 

Pidge looks from the lions to Lance and Keith. “So,” Pidge says delicately.

 

“SHUT UP, PIDGE,” Lance says loudly, dragging her away from Keith with a hand over her mouth. Keith sends out a tentative tendril of telepathic energy toward Lance. They don’t exactly have extensive training in the thought network that connects the five paladins through Voltron, but that doesn’t stop Keith from trying to take a look at what could possibly be making Lance blush like that.

 

“ _Go away, Keith_ ,” Lance shouts across the field, and Keith backs off.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You fight like a Galra,” Zarkon shouts at him in his dreams.

 

Keith wakes up on the other side of the wormhole after rescuing Allura and everything hurts. There’s a wound in his side—some kind of shrapnel made its way into his stomach. He hisses at the sensation and punches a few buttons on his lion’s monitor to wake up the screen and see where he’s landed. The lion makes a few fizzled attempts at booting up, but the computer seems fried.

 

Keith holds his side and slowly makes his way out of his lion.

 

The air is breathable on whatever planet he landed on, according to his helmet, and Keith takes it off. His breath comes in staggering waves, and he shouts out in the forest where he crashed, “ _Shiro!_ _Allura!_ ” There is no response, and Keith settles himself down against the trunk of a large tree. “Hunk, Pidge?” he calls out as well. “Lance?” Nothing.

 

_Help_ , he pushes through his telepathic connection as strongly as he can before he passes out.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“We need to decide what to do with him,” Shiro is saying sharply as Keith comes to.

 

“What’s going on?” Keith slurs. He tries to sit up, but he’s been strapped down to the table. “What the hell?” He struggles against the straps, and Allura puts a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Stop, Keith,” she commands, and he’s scared enough that he obeys her.

 

“What happened?” Keith asks. “Why am I tied up?”

 

“For everyone’s safety on this ship,” Shiro says, and his voice is so brutally distant that Keith physically recoils.

 

“Dude,” Hunk says loudly. “You don’t have to be so mean.”

 

“Keith,” Allura says softly, holding up a hand mirror. “Something happened when you were injured during our escape from Zarkon’s command base. By the time we found you, well: your body did its best to heal itself, but it also reverted to what I believe to be its natural state.”

 

Keith isn’t listening to Allura anymore. He’s staring in the mirror at his face.

 

His eyes are bright yellow, his skin purple and mottled.

 

“I’m dreaming,” he announces to the group.

 

“Keith,” Hunk says quietly. “You’re not.”

 

Keith is silent for a long moment. “Unbind me,” he says finally.

 

“It’s not a good idea,” Shiro starts, but Allura silences him.

 

“Do it,” she nods at Coran, and he undoes the bindings carefully, giving Keith a wide berth. “Voltron chose him for a reason, Shiro. You need to trust in it.”

 

"Voltron chose  _Zarkon_ , Allura! It's not exactly proof of character." Shiro has transformed his cybernetic hand into a blade. He holds it up at the ready. "They destroyed Altea, Allura."

 

"I trust Keith," Allura says simply. "He did not grow up under Zarkon's control."

 

Keith gets up from the bed slowly, carefully. He’s not sure how much exertion his body can take. Instinctively, he steps toward Shiro, and Shiro raises his hand toward Keith's neck. “The Galra tortured me for two years,” he says darkly. “Never again.”

 

“Shiro,” Hunk says, moving to stand between him and Keith, blocking Keith from harm. “You’re acting like you don’t know him. You _do_ know Keith. You know him best of all of us.”

 

Shiro takes one final look at Keith, makes a pained face, and storms out. 

 

Keith doesn’t blame him.

 

Keith grabs a blanket from the bed, wraps it around himself, and walks out of the medical bay. No one follows him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s not fair. It’s not _fair_.

 

Keith throws things around his room, anything that’s not bolted to the floor, anything that will give him the nice _crack_ against the wall he’s looking for. The destruction is perfect nightmare fuel: yes, he’s always been this _thing_ , the anger in his chest has always been a quiet fury waiting to be released once Keith’s false shell is cracked. Even as he continues the carnage, he is disgusted by himself. The tempest inside his chest, the rage that’s been there for as long as he can remember: maybe this is why he feels like a tornado on the best of days, spinning out of control.

 

If that is the answer, Keith would rather not know the question.

 

Pidge knocks on his door cautiously a few hours after Keith tires himself out and curls into his bed. “I’d like to run some genetic tests,” she says in a clinical but not unkind voice from his doorway. “If that’s okay.”

 

Keith consents to the blood draw but beyond that keeps to himself, either in his room or at the outer reaches of the castle. He doesn’t want to have to look Shiro in the eye again. He’s not sure how the hell they’re supposed to form Voltron like this. The universe is defenseless and it’s all Keith’s fault.

 

Keith sleeps in his lion that night. He’s not sure why, but what he does know is that in here, he feels safe. The red lion chose him regardless of what he is, and that in itself is a small comfort.

 

“Hey,” Lance says, cornering him in the hangar bay the next morning. “Found you.”

 

Keith pulls the hood of the sweater he’s started wearing under his usual red jacket around his ears and scowls. “I don’t need this right now.”

 

Lance puts up his hands in supplication. “Wait, wait. I’m not here to be an asshole.”

 

Telepathically, Keith feels a gentle nudge from the red lion. _Listen_ , it hums at him.

 

Keith turns back to Lance, accepting of whatever he’s going to throw at him.

 

“Dude, relax,” Lance says, and he puts an awkward hand on Keith’s shoulder. “I just wanted to say, I always thought you were a weirdo. All this,” he says, gesturing at Keith’s new visage, “doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

 

There’s a pink tinge across the top of Lance’s cheeks that Keith finds curious.

 

“Thanks, I guess,” Keith says. It is strange to admit to himself that Lance’s words actually make him feel a little better.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You’ve certainly got Galran heritage written all over your genome,” Pidge says excitedly. Pidge is showing their group Keith's genetic results at her computer station by the green lion. “But look here—your genetic code is a near perfect replica of _this_ code, right here. Any guesses, team?”

 

“This isn’t a game, Pidge,” Shiro says shortly, but Allura leans in.

 

“No,” she says in a hushed voice.

 

“Yep,” Pidge says triumphantly. “It’s the Altean gene for camouflage.”

 

“That’s why he was able to stay hidden for so many years,” Coran says, curiosity brimming in his tone of voice. “The Altean blood concealed him to look like an earthling.”

 

“So Keith is half Galran, half Altean, and all angsty teenager,” Lance says, putting two and two together.

 

Keith can’t quite process what’s going on, because Allura has him in her arms in a quick second. “I thought we were all that remained of Altea, Coran,” she says tearfully, and Keith with a lurch feels Coran join their hug from behind.

 

“It is a miracle indeed, Princess!”

 

Keith isn’t sure what to feel. It’s nice to not be looked at like a monster, but when he looks for Shiro, Shiro is already gone.

 

Allura takes the rest of the day teaching Keith how to shapeshift. “Just focus on the image you want to project. Keep it in the center of your mind and hold it there. Let it settle in your chest. Release the old form. Take on the new.”

 

It takes a few hours, but after one particularly successful moment of meditation, Allura gasps. Keith opens up his eyes and stares down at his hands, which are now a pale pink. “You did it,” she smiles gently at him. “That’s a difficult skill to master so quickly.”

 

Keith shrugs. He doesn’t need or want the compliment. He’s just happy to have his face back.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“There are things I need to tell you,” Shiro says quietly. He is in Keith’s room. It has been days since Shiro has been this close.

 

“Tell me, then,” Keith says simply.

 

“I’m sorry.” Shiro’s voice is fiercely bitter. It’s clear he’s angry at himself, incensed by his own weakness. Keith knows the feeling intimately.

 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Keith says weakly, and Shiro’s face crumples before he takes Keith into his arms.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he tells Keith, words spilling out against his neck.

 

“I’m still me,” Keith says, voice choked by sheer relief. “It’s still me.”

 

“I know,” Shiro says. “I know.”

 

Shiro spends the next hour telling Keith about what he remembers from his imprisonment. He tells Keith about Pidge’s brother, about the scars he accumulated, about the fear the Galran soldiers struck in their gladiator slaves.

 

Keith in turn tells Shiro about the desert: about the empty that settled in his chest once Shiro left Earth. He tells Shiro about losing the fire, losing the will to live for a while.

 

“It’s back now, though,” Shiro confirms.

 

Keith nods. 

 

“Does it bother you?” Shiro asks. Keith knows what he’s referencing immediately: does it bother him, being an alien, being so different.

 

Keith thinks that he’s always been different. Now he has a reason.

 

“Yes,” Keith says hesitantly. “Someday, I think it won’t. But right now it does.” He pauses as Shiro gives him a grim but supportive look. “We’ve been fighting the Galra since we started this weird adventure. I'm not sure how to resolve that.”

 

“I think, maybe, that it’s not about where you come from,” Shiro nods. “It’s about who you are.” He puts the palm of his hand on Keith’s heart. It is his cybernetic prosthetic, and it is cold to the touch. “You are good, Keith Kogane. I’m sorry I needed reminding.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He dreams he is in a plane of fire. The red lion stands before him.

 

Flames flicker around his feet. The fire does not burn. The fire never burns.

 

_Go_ , it tells him.

 

Keith wakes up.

 

It’s not far between bedrooms, and Keith is at Lance’s door before he can think twice about it. That's probably a good thing.

 

Keith knocks.

 

“I said go to bed, Hunk,” he hears Lance groan as he approaches the door from the inside. “Seriously, you worry too much—” His voice trails off as he finds Keith in the doorway instead.

 

“Hey,” Keith says.

 

“You’re not Hunk,” Lance says, pointing out the obvious.

 

“Can I come in?” Keith asks.

 

Lance’s room is the single messiest space he’s seen in the castle since they arrived in the blue lion. It is oddly comforting, seeing something so human in such a strange place. There is a photo pinned to the bed of a large family with Lance in the middle. Even just in the still photo, it’s obvious that there is a lot of love in Lance’s family. Keith’s chest clenches in a moment of small, violent jealousy.

 

He lets out an uneasy breath and turns to Lance.

 

“So,” Lance starts. He looks as nervous as Keith feels. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

Keith sits on the edge of Lance’s bed. “There’s something about you,” Keith starts, and Lance lets out a small laugh.

 

“I’ve been told,” Lance says with a joking smirk that fades into something a little sadder, a little more real. “Mostly that I suck, but on occasion, there are good words to be had.” He shrugs. “My mom thinks I’m cool.” Looking suddenly appalled, he glances at Keith and says gravely, “Don’t tell the other guys I said that.”

 

“You made me feel like I belonged,” Keith presses on. “Like I was normal. I don’t know why you did that, but you did.”

 

“Well,” Lance says after a long pause. He looks uncomfortable at the seriousness with which Keith is taking this conversation. “You do belong.”

 

“Even though I’m an alien,” Keith confirms.

 

Lance smiles. “You were always an alien, dipshit. We just know now.” He pauses and, in a moment Keith qualifies as both brave and stupid, he sits down next to Keith on the bed. “There’s always space for you here.”

 

Keith gulps. His throat is dry.

 

“I mean, I know I’m not Shiro. Or some beautiful space princess.” Lance pauses. “And I’m only in the Garrison because you dropped out.”

 

“I don’t really think any of us are in the Garrison anymore,” Keith points out.

 

There’s a moment of quiet between them. The only sound is that of Lance’s heel tapping against the tile of the floor. His hand bounces on his exposed knee, belying a nervous energy.

 

The fire in his veins gives Keith enough courage to reach out and take Lance by the hand.

 

“What?” Lance asks.

 

“What?” Keith parrots back at him. He doesn’t let go, just threads their fingers gently together.

 

“Oh. I don’t,” Lance starts. Keith imagines the rest of the sentence. _I don’t like boys. I don’t like you_. “I don’t really know what to do here.” Lance blushes at Keith’s surprised look. “ _Shut up,_ like you’ve got so much experience.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Keith says, a laugh in his voice.

 

“You thought it,” Lance says, eyes narrowing.

 

Keith finds himself smiling. This is an easy, good feeling that hasn’t come often as of late. He squeezes Lance's hand and watches Lance's eyes crinkle at the edges. Yes: this feels right.

 

“I mean, I think it goes something like this,” Lance says, tone purposefully casual, but his voice shakes, betraying his nerves. He takes Keith by the chin and brings him in close. Keith can feel Lance’s breath on his lips. “Pretty sure.”

 

It is, objectively, a bad start: Lance’s kiss is one that immediately devolves into an open-mouthed lapping. Keith allows it for a wet moment before pulling away.

 

“Maybe more like this,” Keith suggests, moving to straddle Lance’s hips and push him down against the flat of the bed. He leans down and gives Lance a closed mouth kiss: no tongue, just pressure and warmth. Lance makes a little whimper as Keith brings his hips down against Lance’s crotch. It was more a test than anything, but it does feel good, and Lance seems to like it from the way he’s gripping at Keith’s hips.

 

“Always gotta one-up me, don’t you,” Lance pants, and Keith feels the heat of his breath against his skin.

 

It doesn’t take long for Lance to tangle his fingers in Keith’s hair, to pull him down against his chest. Keith enjoys being held. It’s like finally some part of him can be contained. The kissing gets better and more relaxed: at least, Lance stops using his tongue as the major player in the game. His intense anger often fuels him in battle and against the world, but here in the dark he thinks that he can find another way to feel.

 

Keith rolls off of Lance after a long series of investigative touching: here is good, here less so, touch here and Lance makes a noise that Keith likes a _lot_. He can’t remember the last time he’s had such extended physical contact with another person. It’s a little bit of sensory overload. 

 

He knows how to handle himself in isolation.  _This_ is a binary system.

 

“You okay?” Lance asks. Keith feels the wall behind him and rests his back against it, curling his arms against his chest. The solidness of the wall calms him a little.

 

“Yeah,” Keith nods. “Just needed a breather.” He doesn’t want to say he needs space, doesn’t want to be strange or odd in this scenario. Why he can’t just fall into the sensation of being touched, he doesn’t know: but Lance nods and tugs a blanket over himself. He seems to get it, and Keith lets out a small sigh of relief before realizing there's only one blanket.

 

“What?” Lance asks with a half-smile.

 

“You gonna share?” Keith says with a scowl. Lance rolls his eyes, takes a dramatically long moment to think about it, and finally hurls the blanket over Keith as well. They’re not touching, but Keith can feel Lance’s comforting warmth.

 

“So demanding,” Lance laughs, and Keith kicks him in the leg. "Ow."

 

They settle in bed together, both still clothed. Keith lets the nervous energy in his limbs dissipate slowly. Lance's eyelashes are long and dark against his tan skin, and Keith raises a careful hand to brush against Lance's cheek. 

 

"Weirdo," Lance whispers. Lance's hand finds Keith's under the covers, and he delicately links a few of their fingers together.

 

"You're the weirdo," Keith mutters back, his heart full to bursting. He leans his forehead in to rest against Lance's and lets out a small, happy sigh.

 

 

 

* * *

 

  

 

When Keith finally falls asleep that night in Lance's bed, he dreams a familiar dream. The fiery plane is still there. The lion's eyes still stare at him in the dark.

 

 _ Stay, _ the lion says, pressing the word into his mind like a gift.

 

Keith nods. He can do that.


End file.
